


Domino

by Cyrelia_J



Series: Games for Kids [1]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Daddy Issues, Daddy Kink, Dark, Emotional Manipulation, Explicit Language, Inappropriate Behavior, M/M, Self-Esteem Issues, Smoking, Underage Sex, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-04
Updated: 2014-08-07
Packaged: 2018-02-11 17:05:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2076066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cyrelia_J/pseuds/Cyrelia_J
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Troubled teen Matthew Williams meets would be one night stand Arthur Kirkland late night at Tim Hortons. Arthur is old enough to be Matthew's father but that's how just he likes it. Things, however, don't quite go how he expected. England/Canada.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This will be going going from PG-13 to hard R though I make no promises it won't get dirtier. I'm keeping this under 10k words God willing this part is right around 4. Warnings for LANGUAGE, ANGST, SELF ESTEEM ISSUES, SEXUAL BEHAVIOR WITH A MINOR, DADDY KINK, CREEPY SUBJECT MATTER, UNSAFE BEHAVIOR, and SMOKING. C&C always welcome and thanks for reading!

_Check?_

_11:01 PM_

 

_Fine. No place yet._

_11:02 PM_

 

Matthew sends the message and once again looks carefully over the few empty tables. A red headed Hooters waitress looks at her phone while eating a donut. She sits cross legged and shoots him a smile before looking back down at the screen. Matthew smiles in return but quickly turns his attention down to the screen of the beat up Galaxy Note 2. She isn’t the one he’s been watching. His eyes shift to the left- to the man sitting bent over a laptop typing with one hand and alternating between sandwich and coffee in another. Matthew tucks a leg underneath him and carefully turns the next page of “Looking At Movies”, notepad and pen handy. He scribbles a few more half hearted notes before switching to a small nondescript doodle in the corner of the light blue paper- a fast sketched profile of the man bent over the screen. Matthew turns the camera on and takes a quick picture of himself with a serious expression down to the paper labeling it _“in cognito”_ and saves it in a new folder dated 7/7/14. He’ll move the rest later.

He doesn’t know the man’s name yet but he knows his hands. In the time since the man sat down, Matthew’s made a study of those hands. The first page was filled with half hearted notes on noir and far more detailed images of those hands releasing doves into the air like a magician. Matthew had waited long enough for the man to settle in- to take out the laptop from the leather bag and set his phone down- before he allowed himself to just... stare. _Number four... Just like that movie... that book... maybe it’ll be my lucky number tonight. I’ll call you B. B for British like when you ordered that sandwich. B like buttoned up with those polished loafers and that sweater vest... But maybe beneath the vest, those ironed pants and that shirt you’re really loose. B like bet ‘cause you’re my last bet tonight or..._ Matthew smiles looking at the page with a small shake of his head before looking up again. _Yeah or B like ball baster like Al’s gonna do if this doesn’t work out along with everything else he gives me crap about. Well sorry, Mr. Perfect, we can’t all be the second coming of Zack Morris from those Saved By the Bell reruns even if we are twins. Some of us just have to take what we can get and-_  

And Matthew forces himself to keep his head up when the man- when Mr. B- lifts his own, as if sensing the eyes on him, and looks over. It isn’t a quick dismissive glance. It isn’t a curious but overall uninterested look. Matthew knows how to parse those out quickly enough. It’s a look of interest, possibly annoyance but Matthew affects a small smile and holds that expression with a quick snap of the phone camera angle upward probably only catching half his face as he looks at Mr. B. In his head this one’s already titled _“waiting for Godot”_ even if it’s nothing but half his face and ninety percent nostrils _C’mon... please... please let it be you. I’ve been watching you for the last twenty minutes and I love your hands and I love your mouth when you lick the coffee from your lips and I love the way your eyes go back and forth reading words and I think I’m in love already whoever you are._ Mr. B still hasn’t looked away and he seems to be considering something. _This is a big stop off 75 and if you’re traveling... it’s late enough you could turn in for the night, right? If you’ve been driving all day... or if you’re in town on business it’s not... not like anyone you know would be in the shittier part of Dayton of all places so you have to be thinking about it... please_ _please_ _be thinking about it._

Matthew drops his eyes, counts to three and looks up again with more invitation. Mr. B is still watching him looking uncertain and here is where he feels butterflies and the rush of his pulse picking up when he dares to speak up.

“I’m sorry,” Matthew says as he sets his pen down looking quickly in embarrassment at his hot chocolate and snaps this one _“making a play”_. “I... I know I’ve been staring I guess I just-“

“I don’t have any money for the bus.” It’s not the answer he’s expecting but just hearing Mr. B speaking to him sounding so cultured to Matthew’s ears, a touch of annoyance injected into the words not doing anything but cementing in his mind that this _has_ to be the one. He swallows for the moment that Mr. B fixes green eyes on him. He hadn’t taken notice before of the thick dark eyebrows but Matthew finds they complement the overall appearance of the man’s face really well.

Matthew quickly shuts the book and tucks hair behind his ear laughing softly.

“Oh no I um... sorry... I’m not very good at this.” He’s very good at this- or at least he’s very practiced and the two seem to be more or less of the same thing. He sees the Hooters waitress leaving out of the corner of his eye and it’s just the two of them now on this side of the Tim Hortons. There’s a small gathering of post college semi drunk partiers sobering up over coffee and donuts making a dull roar in another corner. Matthew made sure not to sit near them. It would only highlight the fact that he is very much _not_ college aged in spite of the University of Dayton keychain dangling off his backpack. “It’s your hands, y’know... they’re...” _They’re amazing, they’re incredible and big, strong, the like seeing them dancing over the keys of that chromebook and I never would’ve thought a guy dressed like you would have hands like that large and graceful and just a little more tan, with the muscles moving when you grip the cup like you lift weights and you don’t look the type but I want to get to know you better._ “I guess I’ve kinda been staring but they’re really nice.”

He gives that opening taking a long drink of the sweet cocoa capturing nerves with the click of the camera and he name _“flirting with disaster”._ Mr. B blinks at him as if he hasn’t been expecting to hear that in spite of any terribly obvious signals Matthew thinks that he’s been giving. _Please... please God, I know the odds aren’t in my favor at all and I’d have better luck hanging around MJs or something but I can’t walk there like I can here and I won’t be able to drive ’til next year and I won’t be able to get the hell away from here ’til even longer than that if I’m lucky and please just say something already!_ Matthew toys with the pen, taking a deep breath.

“Yah, no, I don’t bugger little boys.” He drops the pen and can’t help the way that his mouth falls open unattractively. It’s a terrible picture. He takes it anyway and tries to take some of the sting out with _“oh no he didn’t”_. _Little boys? Little boys?! I’ve been sixteen for at least four months now you stupid limey jerk! And... and didn’t you see the textbook?! And what the hell happen to tact and setting someone down gently and not acting like a prick and if we were in school I’d punch you so help me detention, suspension, I’d so give you what for and if not me then Al and... and calm down, Matthew, for God’s sake you’ve heard ten times worse than that. You’ve heard queer, fag, homo, all sorts of things and this guy at least still might be... okay okay you can do this, you can do this._

“I’m nineteen,” he answers back sounding far more petulant than he’d like. Mr. B snorts into his coffee cup.

“And I’m the queen mother, right... God rest her soul” The words aren’t spoken unkindly- it almost seems to Matthew that the quick look he’s given is almost playful. It makes his heart pick up once more and he quickly shoves the props into his backpack- phone in one hand, hot chocolate in the other. Matthew sits down across from Mr. B in the booth seeing a look of surprise at his audacity followed up with a softly muttered “bloody cheek.” He doesn’t know what that means but answers with a satisfied smile all the same when that notebook is closed. _Alright, Matthew, play time’s over so..._ He reaches into the pocket of his black hoodie and pulls out a real enough ID and slaps it on the table like a challenge. Matthew’s toes clench nervously in his sneakers as he lowers his head looking at the man’s blurry face over his glasses frames. He slides sweaty fingers over the ID right in front of him sliding it almost into the cup of coffee just stopping short. 

“Matthew Williams,” he says softly, barely above a whisper, his throat suddenly tight and dry. “Nineteen, major in History second year at University of Dayton taking a course on film because it looked interesting...”

Matthew licks his lips and nervously looks to the reflection of the two of them faint in the foggy February window taking another shot of himself in the booth- _“daring to disturb”_. 

“I’m not... I’m not like doing this for money or anything I just... I just saw you and...” he hears the ID being slid back across the table as he suddenly takes notice of Nora Jones blaring faintly in the background. He sets the phone down putting it to sleep his fingers fidget with the strings of the hoodie ignoring the text that comes from Alfred. He knows it makes him look less the lie but feeling green eyes watching him with an intensity that’s beyond the sexual simplicity he’s accustomed to. _Just finish the script already, Matthew. Al’s gonna start getting antsy if you haven’t gotten anywhere by now and mom gets home at 3 and if you’re not there..._ “If... if you don’t... I mean if you’re not into guys that’s cool right I just thought...”

“No.” Matthew’s fingers stop their motion as his head snaps up to look at the man trying to keep his face from betraying too much. _Dammit I didn’t read you wrong I_ _didn’t_ _I..._ “No you’re not thinking for God’s sake just what are you-?!”

Mr. B clears his throat and lowers his voice lest the party group turn their attention to the two of them. 

“For one I don’t fancy every moment of my life popping up on instagram or twitter or whatever you little buggers are using nowadays.” Matthew tightens his grip on the strings as he looks back down at the ID that cost him a hundred and fifty dollars off the internet and a month of being his brother’s chore bitch to buy his silence. “Second, I don’t care if you get your mum to walk through that door right now and swear on a stack of bibles I don’t believe you’re a day over seventeen if that and third-“

“The camera’s for me, not you,” Matthew cuts in unable to help the automatic turn on of the phone and another agitated snap of his face the hot shot daring to be called _“volley and thunder”_. “And I’ve done this before y’know s-so I don’t need a damn lecture.” He grabs the ID and shoves it back in his pocket not wanting to look back up. “I’m not... I’m a not a virgin maybe... maybe I even do this a lot okay and maybe I like to take pictures of myself but I don’t take them of anyone else so it’s no one’s business but mine so... so if you’re straight fine tell me but don’t talk to me like this is some kind of after school special c-‘cause...” _I’ve been lectured by youth pastors, teachers, truck drivers, every damn person you can think of and I don’t need it from... God, Matthew, what the hell does it matter if it’s this guy? ‘Cause he’s got an accent? ‘Cause he’s got those eyes or those hands or that... that he’s maybe the most gorgeous guy you’ve ever seen who’s given you so much as a second look?_  

Matthew swallows and blinks away the stinging behind his eyes, feet shuffling on the floor. He hasn’t let himself cry in years and he isn’t about to start now. He photos _“Houston, we have rejection.”_

“Forget it, okay. I... I’m sorry I bothered you, sir, I hope you enjoy your stay in our fine United States of America.” _Hah, right, good one, Matthew, that’s just like how Al would say it._ He half laughs, half hiccups, half coughs- and he’s painfully aware in his head three halves equal some other impossibility but he doesn’t care. Matthew turns and grabs the backpack. _Except Al wouldn’t be sitting here about to throw his drink across the table ‘cause some stranger in a Tim Hortons won’t fuck him so how pathetic are you, Matthew? So pathetic that you can’t even get a guy at a fucking high school for the arts- they all fall for the “hot” twin. They want the one who’s all funny and athletic and down to earth and not the “unique one” which you know is just a nice way of saying “emo pussy” or the “selfie taking weirdo” and shit shit shit I just want to go home and at least I can calm down on the walk and just tell Al I struck out and get to hear him saying how stupid and crazy all this is anyway and what’s so wrong with just wanting a little..._

Matthew blinks again realizing that his other sleeve is being held by those fingers feeling anger give way to confusion.

“I didn’t say no, Matthew Williams.” 

“H-huh?” Matthew feels the heat in his face clearing quickly as the man lets go of his sleeve and puts the notebook away. He throws on a brown leather jacket before dumping his tray and putting his plate up. The leather bag is looped over his head making him look more like a schoolboy himself than a grown man. Matthew is still looking at him stunned and can only think to title this picture “ _wut_?”. The last of the coffee is down and discarded in the time it takes Matthew to decide to just throw his half finished drink in the can.

“I’m Arthur Kirkland, thirty seven- old enough to be your damn father but apparently not old enough to not think with my fucking cock tonight so help me _God_ if you’re not at least fucking eighteen...” He trails off grabbing the leather bag practically throwing the door open while Matthew follows him with a high bordering on giddy.

“I wouldn’t tell you if I was... Mr. Kirkland,” he says swallowing giddiness down as Arthur takes out a pack of Marlboro red  and pulls up a space of wall, breath visible in the chill air. Matthew takes that as his cue to do the same, only his vice is Blu flavored with vivid vanilla. He pauses for a sophisticated black and white filtered _“passing the tobacco torch.”_

“Well isn’t ickle Mattie all grown up,” Arthur observes dryly. Matthew tenses.

“Don’t call me that. That’s what my brother calls me.” He takes a long defiant drag watching the pretty blue light at the end.  

“Alfred.” Matthew almost drops the e cig when Arthur says his brother’s name. Arthur clicks his tongue. “I read your phone when you set it on the table. So then Matthew _is_ your real name. Christ you twit I thought you said you’ve done this before.” Arthur takes a long unconcerned drag letting Matthew capture _“shock and awe”._ His hands are a little more shaky as he lets the vanilla nicotine calm his nerves. _Stupid stupid, Matthew. That’s what mom would yell at you. No one else asks, no one else cares, no one else has ever said more than a few words or been curious God just go home, Matthew. Let Alfred get in a good laugh and don’t... don’t look at those hands. Don’t look at those lips, don’t be turned on by that smug face but you are. Of course you are, Matthew because you’re an idiot._ Matthew laughs softly as he leans back against the cold wall, his backpack shouldering the cold. 

“I guess you know it all... well... well we’re identical twins too. But I’m Williams, he’s Jones, and mom is O’Brien... sofigurethatoneoutsmartguy...” 

Matthew’s face screws into a pout as he snaps _“it’s my party”_ and listens to Arthur laughing. Without watching him it allows him to focus more on the sound but it isn’t the jeering bite of one mocking him but rather the all too familiar sound of bitter self recrimination. He wrinkles his nose at the smell of the strong tobacco smoke.

“God if you’ve even given another bloke so much as a hand job I’ll eat my fucking wallet.” Matthew crosses his arms looking away, lips still pursed. 

“Then you better go back in there and get some salt you stupid hoser...” _Another mystery, jerk. Maybe I’ll throw in some French just to give you something else to think about._ He does just that. “Maybe... maybe men think I have a... a certain... _je ne sais quoi_...” When he says it, it sounds like “jew new say kwa”. Arthur shakes his head smiling, eyes half closed. He speaks softly to himself as Matthew drowns his senses in vanilla again feeling the happy nicotine buzz. 

“You’re crazy, Arthur... you’ve gone completely fucking starkers... alright...” Matthew turns and sees him inhale half the cigarette down with one deeply drawn breath and he can only watch nearly breathless himself. “Let’s see what you’ve got then, lad.” He drops the cigarette on the ground and grinds it out.

Matthew lowers the e cig shoving it back in his jeans pocket, taking this time to notice Arthur is the same height that he is. Somehow he feels small in spite of that fact. Arthur’s left arm traps him, hands pressed to the brick he isn’t gentle when his calloused fingers cup Matthew’s face, tilting it quickly, lips pressing to his. Matthew grips the phone tighter and almost throws himself back against the wall. Almost. He closes his eyes, screwed shut tightly at first but relaxing when he feels Arthur’s mouth open. He mimics the motion and tastes tobacco and coffee before a count of three and barely remembers that he has another hand until his body takes a staggered lumber forward and his backpack swings nearly falling off his shoulder. He moves his arm, letting it drop, letting that arm wiggle and reach for Arthur’s hand as it drops. He holds it tightly terrified as Arthur catches his weight and lets a rough palm slide over his face to grab his hair and lap at his tongue fiercely. Matthew swallows, feeling moisture at the corner of his mouth, feeling sloppy wetness between them but most of all feeling Arthur give his hand a painful squeeze before releasing him entirely and shoving him backwards hard enough to make him trip and fall over the dropped bag.

It’s instinct alone that makes Matthew take out the phone and photograph his fall from grace with a quirky _“head over heels”_ a snapshot of old gum polka dotted concrete framing his flushed face. He looks up at the still night and the bright fluorescents outside catching his breath with a soft shifting whine as he rolls over and looks up on his hand and knees to see Arthur standing there wiping his mouth on the back of his hand looking down with the leather coat open, mouth slack, free hand clenching car keys in a tight fist. Those slacks do little to hide his erection. Matthew opens his mouth and he thinks he hears Arthur whisper to him that he wishes “the boy” would suck him right here. Matthew blinks, looking up at Arthur like he would a lover he hasn’t seen in a month instead of a stranger he’s never seen before in his life.

“I... I’m sorry.” He doesn’t know why he’s apologizing as he stands up and takes the bag again. He’s afraid to let his mouth turn to a smile. Arthur turns around and doesn’t speak to him but instead motions for him to follow.

 _He looks... pissed?_ Matthew follows him quickly with a shake of his head. _Was it me? Alfred always says my attitude is gonna get my ass kicked one of these days but I wasn’t... I didn’t mean to... or are you just mad at yourself? Like all those movies and books is it like... what they call self recrimination or... shit, Matthew just shuttup and don’t ruin this and... and oh God that’s not a rental._ Arthur unlocks a black 80s Lincoln and Matthew and feel the sweat pool from his hand to the phone. He opens his mouth and closes it again as Arthur throws his bag over the front bench to the back. He looks at Matthew fingers holding the heavy metal door tightly. He’s breathing heavily and looks almost uncertain himself before pulling his face into an unreadable mask.

“Yeah she’s mine. I’m not here on holiday or passing through or whatever circumstance your other fellas were I s’ppose. I teach... at the bloody fucking University of Dayton... English, mind.” Matthew feels his legs turn to jello. “I’m getting in the car, I’m unlocking the door and I’m giving you a twenty count before I drive the hell off are we clear?”

Matthew nods feeling his chest tighten and the cold steal his breath. He tries to draw a breath even as the clock in his head ticks down each second. _He... Oh god... oh god oh god I can’t... I can’t do this, no way. This isn’t how this goes. I don’t know you. I’m not supposed to know you... Oh you wanted to know him didn’t you, Matthew? You wanted to know Mr. B. You wanted his name, you wanted everything and now you’re getting it and now you better run the hell home because this is too real and too much and you can’t... I can’t... I don’t want to do this. I can’t do this. I can’t like you I just... I just wanna fuck I just want to be a little less lonely I don’t want to..._ He takes few steps to the door painfully aware of how close the seconds are coming. _I don’t want to know this. I can’t know this. What if I want to do this again? See you again what if I want... what if I..._ Matthew’s body is still moving and as he hits the internal count of three his hand opens the door and he throws himself inside staring at the woodgrain dash, backpack dropping between his legs, head bowed.

“I’m sixteen years old. I go to Stivers. I’ve slept with six men since I turned sixteen ‘cause everyone my age wants to do my brother who’s so straight his head doesn’t turn.” He lifts his head and looks out the window and lifts the phone catching a sideways glance to Arthur taking a deep breath for _“all the cards on the table”._ “I won’t do it without a rubber so don’t ask . The phone... it stays out... I take pictures of myself it’s what I do y’know and...and I don’t think I can get off unless... unlessIcancallyoudaddy.” He feels the car roll to a stop, Arthur still looking straight ahead as the heat starts to kick out hot. _Six guys left from the ten who let you in the car and the four who bailed from the twenty one you approached and the eleven that said no and the fifty you saw and the twenty you were too chicken shit to approach and the nine who had girlfriends or boyfriends..._ Matthew reaches for the door handle about to get out just as his ears pick up Arthur’s sharp intake of breath and the soft prayer to the lord.

“What motel?”

“W-what?”

“Tell me where I’m gonna fuck you, Matthew Williams.”

“Dayton Motor,” he replies without second thought. “If you don’t...”

“I know where it is...” More softer muttering that Matthew doesn’t hear as his heart makes itself known and alive beating vibrantly as Arthur turns on 92.9 and Billy Joel is saying it’s still rock ’n roll to him. Matthew texts Alfred the usual address.

 

_b in the lot next door @ 2. U no the drill. Have fun Mattie <3_

_11:18 PM_

 

Arthur starts the car moving again.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note/WARNING: I will warn everyone that this part gets considerably darker. We're getting into very murky moral and ethical issues as well as bad decision making. Depending on your views/life experiences this might be a very trigger-y part where emotional manipulation/imbalance of power is concerned, violence, not entirely kosher daddy kink, incest play, and angst. Some people will be disturbed, others titillated. I vaccilate between both myself because where fiction is concerned I find some pretty creepy shit arousing. I might continue this in another story or leave it where it is. That being said, I want to thank everyone for reading. I challenged myself to write this in the manner it is while still trying to keep everyone sympathetic if not relatable. C&C is always welcome- I'm a poor judge of how other people will perceive my stuff.

_Christ he looks like Francis._ Matthew reaches up his fingers wrapping loosely around the shoulder belt. He lets it lazily linger, head turning subtly, eyes darting between the buckle of the seatbelt and Arthur’s groin. Arthur doesn’t miss that subtle glance. _Fucking acts like him half the time too... at least how he used to be when... shut it, already he’s not him. He’s a fucked up kid who probably wants to close his eyes and pretend it’s his daddy fucking him and you’re stupid enough to be driving him to a motel because he looks like-_  

“I’m not your bloody father,” Arthur says suddenly as he makes a right. He licks his lips absently with just a small darting out of a thoughtful tongue. Arthur steps harder on the gas as he approaches the onramp forcing his eyes back to the road.

“You could be,” Matthew answers smartly.“I’ve never met him.” He lets go of the shoulder belt and threads those restless fingers through his hair tucking a leg underneath him. “Orhecouldbedead...” comes a soft mutter. 

“S’what you’re gonna be if you don’t knock off the attitude and put on your fucking seat belt.” _Nice, Arthur. Tell him you’re not his old man then tell him to put his fucking seat belt on. Brilliant, that._

Matthew leans his head against the window with a small defiant smirk. 

“What am I?... I’m Matthew Williams, total delinquent. I like to live dangerously. What am I rebelling against? Whaddya got?...” He ducks his head speaking more softly looking almost embarrassed.“Classic Brando... right?” Arthur hears another click of the phone camera and sees the light as Matthew swipes a thumb across the screen. “Guess you wouldn’t know that... being... being from the other side of the pond they say... huh?” His voice wavers faintly seeming to Arthur to be desperately seeking acceptance. Matthew bites his fingernail when Arthur doesn’t immediately answer. Arthur bites his cheek so he’ll stop staring from his peripheral vision. 

“Unless your mum is a lush named Francis,” Arthur mutters as his hands grip the wheel more tightly. “Then you can stop getting your knickers in a twist because I’m definitely _not_ -“

“M-maybe I like that.” Matthew sits up suddenly looking about to crawl across the seat. “Maybe that just makes me want it even more.” _Christ do you even know what the hell you’re saying you little twit? What are you doing, Arthur? You haven’t thought about Francis in months now and one stupid teenager..._ Arthur looks at Matthew in the rearview mirror with an unreadable expression. _One stupid teenager with golden blonde hair... one teenager who looks at you like... knock it off, they’re nothing alike. Francis was never this awkward, this nervous this... God you idiot if you had a son like you talked about he might even look like..._ Arthur swallows, feeling a cold stabbing lance through him. At the same moment he feels his cock stiffen even more. It makes bile rise in the back of his throat. “Maybe you don’t know what the hell you want and bloody hell why are you sitting in my fucking car...”

Arthur almost worries that the wheel will break as hard as he’s gripping it. Matthew untucks his legs and clutches the dark red cloth of the seat..

“If you don’t want to fuck me why am I here? That’s all this is I mean...”He throws himself back against the seat and chews on the drawstring of his hoodie with a frown as the old car glides to 80. “If you don’t want me then...” _God you have no fucking idea. You have no idea what the hell you’re doing to me sitting like Francis reborn as a kid without ten years of a fucked to hell relationship and a goddamn drinking problem. Sure, call me “daddy”, I’ll call you Francis and we can do this every now and then til I get thrown in fucking jail or kill myself... Stop it, Arthur. You should’ve left him on the ground when you shoved him away stop thinking with your fucking dick already and just-_ “-just... take me home,” Matthew says without emotion watching the streetlights on the highway passing by. “If you take the next exit and go back up Dixie you can-“

“Cor... don’t tell me where you live, you cannot possibly be that stupid!”

“And what if I am?” he fires back. _And what if you’re a stupid kid who has no fucking idea what shit the world is and what if I’m a fucking desperate fucking pervert who’s one step from stopping the car and teaching you a damn lesson you’ll never forget because you just had to make me think of that miserable lying cheating-_

“And what if I’m gonna slit your charming little throat and throw you in a dumpster?” Arthur growls as they pass the exit for Wagner Ford Rd and Hell is less than a few minutes away. Matthew smiles, hand in the pocket of his hoodie and that smile is so remnant of Francis that Arthur almost swears he sees the man’s face in Matthew’s stead. He doesn’t jump when the crackle erupts practically in his ear nor when he sees the bright light flashing in the darkness. _Something else to thank the bastard for when you see him in Hell is fucking nerves of steel, Arthur. You think you’re gonna scare me with that? Try having your lover fire a fucking gun at your head ‘cause you came home late and he wasn’t sober enough to realize you weren’t a fucking robber._ He sees Matthew wearing a perfect teenager’s smugness

“And what if my brother bought me this for my birthday ‘cause he can’t always be there, what then?”

Arthur barely spares him a glance as the sight of the small stun gun brings him back to the present. He almost ignores him save for the click of that obnoxious camera. Arthur checks the rearview mirror once- checks the side. There aren’t any lights from other cars but on a Wednesday night he isn’t terribly surprised. He hits the brakes hard, watching as Matthew drops the stun gun, thrown violently against the dashboard with a scream that would make him laugh under any other circumstances. The shoulder belt digs into him uncomfortably and he turns the volume of the radio down just as Pink starts encouraging him to try. 

“I told you to put your fucking seatbelt on,” is all he says as Matthew is rocked back and forth hitting the seat and the door. Arthur slows as he turns onto the exit ramp, coming to a full stop while Matthew sits back holding his shoulder looking up at the headliner sucking in a breath through his teeth. The first thing he goes for is the phone on the floor to take another picture. Arthur barely stops himself from stomping it through the carpet. He smiles when Matthew takes the seatbelt with a wince and buckles it for the last few moments of the ride.

Matthew looks almost surprised when they pull into the parking lot of the motel stopping to idle in front of the lobby.

“Did I finally knock some sense into your head?” Arthur can feel his heart still racing with adrenaline and he watches Matthew’s defiant pouting mouth with his hand lingering on the buckle of his own seatbelt. _Say yes. Tell me to drop you off at a fucking bus stop or take you home or I don’t even care but the longer you make me sit here looking at you..._ The camera takes another picture while Matthew molds his expression from pained and tired to a sophomoric approximation of defiance. Arthur reads the answer before Matthew even says it. It doesn’t matter what Matthew says. It doesn’t matter that’s it’s a poorly worded come on with an equally empty expression. Arthur turns his head in time to catch Matthew slump back against the window with the affected look of a tortured poet. He doesn’t need a camera to capture the eternal image of the young man leaning pitiably against the window staring at the illuminated sign advertising waterbeds and free adult movies as he walks around the car.

When he comes back out a few minutes later shoving the receipt in his coat pocket he catches sight of Matthew again, this time watching not the sign but him. His left index finger has been tracing idle patterns on a breath steamed glass canvas. It’s wiped away when Arthur walks closer and he stops in the cold still air blinking a few times, feeling a heavy sleep head give way in the chill air to a hot rise in his face. Matthew’s face isn’t full of vapid ardor but the ghost of longing for something that isn’t really there. And as he becomes increasingly aware of Arthur’s scrutiny still some ten feet away his mouth curls into a small haphazard smile that’s forgotten to be coy or wanting. Arthur wants it. _I need to fuck you._ He walks briskly around the car and gets in, silent as he drives around to park in the back. He takes just long enough to throw a blanket over the leather case in the rear seat still not sure what to say when he looks across the seat to see Matthew grabbing his bag, the stun gun disappearing into his pocket. Arthur locks the door and takes the room key out.

“It’s over here,” he says as he starts walking toward one of the rooms on the lower level. He doesn’t hear Matthew’s footsteps and turns in time to see him photograph himself leaned back against the door. Arthur waits for him. _Francis would do that too if he’d thought of it. He’d fill the house with pictures of himself if he could. You were probably just an afterthought in every one of them and for God’s sake he’s been gone for two years now!_ Matthew puts the camera back in his pocket and hesitates almost shyly as he pushes off the car taking a few uncertain steps looking like a newborn foal born into the world in a halo of polluted air and artificial light that keeps the darkness of the new moon at bay. He draws himself with a put upon strut throwing all the times he’s done this before into that walk. His fingers brush the sleeve of Arthur’s coat as if he would take his hand and he gives another smile that’s far too excited to belong in this sordid picture. Arthur turns his head away. 

“Come along then,” he says curtly. Matthew follows him far more eagerly than he should. Arthur walks to the room quickly, half fumbling with the keys when Matthew steps behind him so close that he can feel his warmth, can fee his body heat. His vision swims. _God blood pressure… there’s another sign you’re getting too old for… Don’t think about it, Arthur just stop thinking already._ Arthur drops his keys with a soft curse. Matthew is already bending down, picking retrieving them with a brief pause to look up with a soft reassuring smile as if it is Arthur who is the one that needs to be led by the hand. Arthur reaches for the key but Matthew steps to the side. He lets out a breath when Matthew puts his hand behind his back and looks down seeming unsure if the teasing is welcome.

“I can’t very well open the door without the key, now can I?” Arthur asks softly.

Matthew’s shoulders relax just the smallest amount. He drops his backpack on the ground.

“Maybe… maybe you should comegetityourselfdaddy,” he rushes in a barely audible whisper. His long eyelashes flutter behind the thin frames of his glasses over cheeks faintly flushed with the cold. Arthur takes another deep breath feeling the shaking in his lungs, feeling his entire body threaten to start trembling from the tension. _You’re fucking torture, you know that… This isn’t exciting, this isn’t a game…_ But he can’t help but play along not allowing the smile that tugs the corner of his mouth. 

“Give me the key, Matthew.” It strikes him again how paternal he sounds in that moment. It seems to strike Matthew as well as he takes a playfully obstinate step back biting his lower lip with a shake of his head. He looks so young and vulnerable. _I need to fuck you so badly._

Arthur reaches out and grabs Matthew by the shoulder before he can dance away- firm but not painful. 

“Give daddy the keys…” His voice is thick, tongue almost sticking; dry in his mouth as he forces the words to Matthew’s ear hearing a soft cry so quiet he almost questions its existence. He can feel Matthew breathing harder against his neck, resting his cheek on his shoulder and he closes his eyes dizzy. _This is it, Arthur, last chance, shove him off, take him the hell home and tell him you’ll kick his arse if you see him pulling this shit in there ever again… He’s not Francis, he never will be Francis and you’re not just playing a fucking game with a man your own age he’s young enough to be your-_

“Godyes...” _God yes…_ He hears the key rattling faintly behind Matthew’s back and steps forward- steps the last bit of space between them down to nothing. He feels Matthew press against him, knees half buckling together a slight twist to his body as Arthur’s hand snakes down and around Matthew’s body reaching for the key trapping him in an awkward embrace. 

His fingers walk down Matthew’s wrist and he can feel the fluttering pulse beneath his thumb as he pulls the key from his grip, turning his wrist, letting the backs of their hands linger together. Matthew, in that moment, raises his other arm and takes what Arthur imagines must be a crooked shot of the back of his head and Matthew’s own half obscured face. He hums softly as he types something on the phone with one hand. Arthur almost drops the keys when he recognizes it.

“Gymnopédie…” he breathes out, eyes wide. _That’s his song. As I live and breathe that’s his fucking song,_ He shoves Matthew back holding him at arm’s length eyes wide. “Where did you hear that song?” _Why, God are you fucking with me?!_

“I… It... it was just-“

“Why do you know that song?!” Matthew shoves the phone back in his pocket almost looking as if he might reach for the stun gun again when Arthur shakes him hard _._

“ItwasonStartrek!” 

“W-what?” Arthur blinks at him, dropping his hands to his sides.

“Star Trek... Next Generation you know the episode where...” Matthew frowns and sighs, looking down when Arthur continues to stare. His hands go back in his pockets the playfulness vanishing from his face. “Yeah... right... I shouldn’t just assume everyone’s seen that...” He forces a laugh and Arthur doesn’t know whether or not to laugh or cry himself. _Star Trek. Bloody Star Trek, of course. Why not? Why the fuck not of everything..._ Arthur shakes his head as he unlocks the door practically kicking it open.

“Get inside already.” He turns to the road, staring at the dead empty street and the near empty parking lot. The air is cold on his face, makes his nose burn. _Of course that’s all. It’s the air. It’s the cold. It’s your stupid ridiculous head you damn fool. God, just turn on the telly for a few and maybe we can... yeah... you’re alright now... you just needed a moment to-_

“A-Arthur?” He turns back into the room letting the door close behind him at the address. _Right. Arthur. Better he calls you by your damn name than any of this other nonsense._ Arthur stops, leaning back against the door watching Matthew’s hands frozen midway to unzipping the black hoodie. He can see for the first time the slender pale neck leading down to collarbone. Matthew takes his silence and takes another picture letting that hand stay on the zipper capturing an eternal moment of uncertainty. Matthew lowers the camera slowly as Arthur walks around him, removing his coat, draping it over the back of an old wooden chair seated at a scratched up table. He sits down “Are we... still doing this?” Matthew turns his body staying facing towards him with a shuffle of his feet waiting for an answer. The phone goes back in his pocket. _No, of course we’re not doing this because “this” is the worst fucking idea I’ve ever had in my life and apparently the seventh worst idea you’ve had in yours._ Arthur takes out a cigarette to calm his nerves eyes moving slowly up Matthew’s body. 

“You may be sixteen, Matthew,” he finds himself saying as he lights the cigarette, “but I’m still your father and I expect to be addressed like it.”

Matthew’s eyes are bright in response to the words. Arthur blinks a few times as he drops his eyes down to the cigarette watching it burning. _There’s no way that you just…_ Matthew unzips the hoodie and drops it on the floor. Arthur looks up at the sound bringing the cigarette to his lips with a steady deliberate hand.

“I know I raised you better than that, pick it up.” Matthew lips his lips with a soft, “yessir.” _No. You need to-_ He shuts it off as he watches Matthew hang the hoodie on an old wire hanger in the closet taking the phone out. The loose Blink 182 T shirt hangs off him unattractively spilling over baggy jeans to black sneakers like a Hot Topic waterfall. Matthew looks questioning, Arthur still seated on the chair smoking. He starts to slowly pull up the T shirt more hesitant than teasing. He stops to take another picture. _It’s a wonder he hasn’t dropped the damn thing yet._ “That’s a good lad. Did you finish your homework?” 

Matthew swallows but answers him immediately. 

“Yeah… Y-yes sir.” He pulls the shirt over his head folding it while looking at Arthur. “I outlined the historical significance of the Lincoln-Douglas debate but the paper isn’t due ‘til Friday so…” Arthur shakes his head and smokes while he palms his crotch. He swallows a groan, hand lingering, rubbing lightly until he feels his prick swelling sticky and hot against his underwear. 

“You know how I feel about unnecessary procrastination, Matthew.” Arthur watches him place the folded shirt on the dresser, hands rubbing slender arms. When he turns around his nipples are peaked with the cold, goosebumps dotting the rest of his slim, pale body. The camera clicks again as Matthew looks away from the lens.

“I’m sorry.” He speaks the apology as if it were real. “But I… I just wanted to be with you tonight.” He’s so unlike Francis, Arthur thinks that the physical resemblance is almost unbearable. _God, I want to fuck you._

“Your mother must be missing you.” He squeezes the bulge in his pants hard, fingers squeezing the filter of the cigarette tighter. Matthew bites his lower lip, face on fire as he undoes the button of his jeans sliding them over his hips. There’s a faint tilt of his hips, thrusting against air, his cock hard, trapped in tight white boxer briefs sitting low beneath his navel. His belly button dips in, his stomach trembling. Matthew bends over, lowering jeans to the floor speaking softly as he steps out of them. There’s a small bitter twist to his mouth as he talks to the worn carpet and sets the phone down snapping a shot of his face inverted over the screen.

“You know she’s working, Daddy.” The jeans that he steps out of and carefully folds bear resemblance to some several hundred dollar pair Francis used to own. “She’s always working… But it’s money… good money… money for all of us… that’s what she wanted… that’s what _Al_ wanted so…” 

Matthew drops the jeans on the dresser hard his mouth moving as he continues to talk to himself. Arthur doesn’t hear what he says as he toes off his shoes and pulls off his socks. When Matthew looks at him again wearing nothing but his underwear stretched out with a large bulge it’s with a pleading needy expression. It makes Arthur want to come right there when he asks, “Do you like looking at me?” His arms cross over his chest and he readies the camera for another picture angled up from the pile of clothes. The timer counts down five before the flash. Arthur puts the cigarette out. Matthew pushes his slipping glasses back up on his face. Arthur sits back, spreads his legs, letting the beige fabric do the speaking for him, hiding nothing of his cock pressing up tightly against his slacks. He moves his hand letting Matthew stare, breaths growing slightly heavier.

“What do you think?” he asks before putting his hand back into place with another rough ragged rub of his palm. 

“Come here.” Matthew uncrosses his arms and reaches for the phone. Arthur opens his mouth to tell him to leave it when he remembers that the phone was part of the agreement. Matthew tucks his thumbs into the waistband of his underwear stopping when Arthur shakes his head. He looks at the phone screen again.  
“But we don’t-“

“You know I don’t like to repeat myself.” Matthew nods quickly, walking over, standing in front of him looking down, legs slightly spread, skin still puckered. He keeps his mouth obediently closed looking Arthur in the eyes. The look at each other silently, Arthur’s mind a brilliant white blank and he stares into Matthew’s eyes above him large through the thin frames of his glasses. “Turn around,” he says not breaking that searching gaze. Matthew turns, squeaking in a muted version of his scream in the car when Arthur pulls him to straddle his lap. He hears another snapshot as Matthew’s head is bowed down. He starts to set the phone on the floor but instead holds into it tighter.

He squirms and Arthur hisses moving his hands to Matthew’s hips pressing the soles of his shoes hard to the floor. _Steady. God you feel so good, fuck I need to fuck you so badly…_ His hands slide slowly, moving hard across his soft skin stopping on Matthew’s thighs. They shake beneath his hands and he forces himself to be still, pressing his forehead to the back of Matthew’s neck smelling tea tree shampoo. His breathing is heavy, his pulse increasing at a rapid rate and he can feel himself panting against Matthew’s cool bare skin. His hands kneed, squeeze those thighs and he hears Matthew’s hitch of breath, feels him stop moving entirely keeping his motion in check with Arthur’s own self-denial. Arthur says a soft prayer he used to hear Francis recite in some of his darker hours. _But you’re not him. You’re so much better than him…_ He squeezes Matthew’s thighs hearing another hitch, another stifled moan and looks when he feels Matthew’s arm shift. He hears the scratch of nails as Matthew scrapes down his throat, down his chest, fingers tightly curled a soft series of “tsss tsss tss escaping him.”

“Move,” is all Arthur says and Matthew pants hard, trying to find purchase on the carpet with his bare feet.

“Yes, daddy,” he whispers toes touching, legs spreading wide until the he has more leverage, shifting, squirming, finally pushing up off the floor with a painfully slow rock. Matthew whimpers softly, Arthur moving his right hand over the juncture of Matthew’s thigh, brushing past his balls, resting hard on his cock. He hears the camera click another shot- unsteady with the shaking of Matthew’s hand. Arthur moves his left hand up, over Matthew’s taut tense stomach as he moves again, a slow torturous undulation back and forth as if he could meld their two bodies together into a single writhing entity. Arthur groans softly as Matthew grinds down against him, not increasing his pace, hand closing over Arthur’s when it reaches his chest, holding it there as he moves harder but not faster. _God I want…_

Matthew rocks between Arthur’s palm over his erection and the hard cock pressed against his ass. There’s another click of the camera following a soft series of whines as Matthew’s back arches, as his head tilts back, wavy hair tickling Arthur’s face the way that- _The way that nothing. I don’t want to see him anymore. I just want to see Matthew. Matthew beneath me, Matthew_ _with his eyes closed, with his legs around my waist, Matthew without the damn camera._ He watches Matthew’s hand holding that phone start to slacken and sees the numbers on the phone displaying the time after 1 o’clock. _Yeah and there isn’t enough time for that, you idiot. That’s it. This is it. This is what you have. You have minutes, you have seconds for a quick one night stand and you wouldn’t last much more than a few thrusts at this rate anyway and… I need to fuck you so badly I can hardly stand it but…_

“Tell me,” He whispers to the warming skin of Matthew’s back.“Tell me what you want, my boy.” He feels Matthew drawing still, feels the sweat palm clamped around the back of his hand tighten possessively as Matthew’s head drops down again to some indefinable place on the floor.

“I want to you to…” He stops, lip drawing between teeth from an aborted “f’- from an aborted “fuck”. Arthur swallows hard allowing his own hips a small needy thrust up. _Just a little… just tell me to-_ “You want to fuck me,” Matthew says letting go of his hand. He turns his head and takes another picture as he does looking past Arthur’s head to the peeling wallpaper. “Like… like I guess I need to call time out and check just so I don’t say anything…” He huffs, recollecting his thoughts and shakes his head. Arthur slowly releases him and Matthew stands. He calms his breathing, taking the reprieve to pull himself back, aching, hard, watching Matthew looking at him with a wry cynical grin looking unbecomingly like Francis. “SorryIthinkIjust…” He clears his throat. “Just got a bit caught up in everything I’m probably just tired and I have a lot going on and uh…’ he waves his hands remnant of an anime character. “I wanna do this… you er… really badly,” he says with a bounce for emphasis. 

_God, you are the most frustrating most ridiculous…  Christ I think I’m gonna blow in my pants but that’s it then, isn’t it? Fuck, leave, so long and all that. Right, boy, that’s how it works. I don’t want to date you. I don’t want to be your fucking boyfriend I want to fuck you. I want to… I want you to be him. No, I want you to be better than him. I want you to be every damn thing he should’ve been no matter what the hell I have to do to make you that way so let’s just leave it with a fuck already because thoughts are thoughts and this is bad enough but doing that is what makes someone a fucking psycho or-_

“How badly?” Arthur asks unable to help the way his voice drops when he asks. Matthew looks at him snapping a perfect picture of blankness.

“Are we uh… that’s… that’s part of the uh scene again, right?” He scratches the back of his neck looking for affirmation.

“How badly…” Arthur repeats thinking that he should feel far more revulsion than anticipation at what comes next “…do you want me to only think of you and not your brother?”

Matthew looks at him- seems to look through him when he thinks about the question- the phone is ready to drop out of his hand. 

“That’s… that’s like… like a weird English joke orsomethingandit’snotfunny.” Matthew takes a step back shifting from one foot to the other. “You’re not really my father… Arthur,” he says more to himself, eyes darting everywhere but Arthur’s face. “I don’t have a father. I have a mother who loves my brother more than me but it’s not like she doesn’t love me at all and this was a bad idea and I should’ve listened to Al when he said the first time I was gonna meet some weirdo some day and I…” His breathing gets heavier and he takes another step back looking ready to hyperventilate. He looks at Arthur desperately and then looks at his clothes. _Don’t do this. Do NOT-_

“I could be,” Arthur says keeping his voice soft when Matthew walks towards his folded clothes. “Isn’t that what you said?”

“I don’t-“

“You said that makes you want it even more,” he presses. “Or were you lying to me when you said that?” Arthur swallows down a burble of laughter in the back of his throat. “Answer me, Matthew.”

“I wasn’t lying! I wouldn’t lie to you!” Matthew’s voice is strain unaccustomed to yelling. He brings a hand up to his mouth in a belated stifling of the shout. Arthur is startled as the wall bangs next door to him and he too jumps. He looks at Matthew red faced, distraught, and wonders if that’s how he must have appeared to Francis all those times that... The thought makes him ill. 

“Put your clothes back on,” he says turning his face into his hand. “God just… just get dressed and get out of here I don’t know what I was-“

“I wouldn’t lie to you,” Matthew repeats stubbornly. Arthur doesn’t look at him. “I wouldn’t... I wouldn’t I just want-“

“Shuttup. Shut. Up. This was a mistake. I don’t know what the hell I’m doing here even doing here with you.”

“What do you mean?” Comes the sudden panicked question. “What’s wrong with me?” Arthur looks up startled to see Matthew standing right in front of him again. He stands. _I’ll be damned if_ _I’m_ _the one looking up at you like I’m the child. Why the hell can’t you just get dressed and leave already? Don’t you get it? This is fucked up crap and if I_ _was_ _your damn father I’d-_ His hands are on Matthew’s face. Matthew’s face is soft, smooth, warm and terribly alive under his rough hands. Arthur stares at the bed behind him. 

“There’s nothing wrong with you... not in the way you’re thinking anyway,” he mutters letting his hands fall to the back of Matthew’s neck. 

“If that’s true then why can’t you even look at me?” _Because if I look at you I’m going to start having those thoughts again. Whether I’m thinking of him or not looking at you, seeing you standing there almost naked looking at me like I have all the damn answers isn’t what I..._

Matthew’s hands are over his, and now it’s him that focuses on some part of Arthur’s green sweater vest.

“Why won’t you look at me?” _I can’t fix anything. I couldn’t fix Francis after ten years and I damn sure can’t fix you. You’re too... warm... You’re so warm._ Arthur moves his hands acutely aware of every bit of skin pressed to his as he puts his arms around Matthew. _God, why do I still want to fuck you so badly?_ He holds him tighter. He holds him tightly until every muscle in his arm burns and he can hear Matthew draw each shallow breath against the shell of his ear. 

“You don’t want me to look at you.”

“I want you to look at me... only at me, daddy...” Arthur loosens the embrace, seeing for the first time as he steps back the phone lying on the floor. Matthew’s face is pale, calm, and devoid of any expression. He looks like he’s carved out of wax as he stands there. 

“Real fathers don’t want to bugger their sons, Matthew.”

“Maybe I like that,” parroting the words in a soft desperate whisper. “Maybe that makes me want it more.”

_Why is everything you say makes me..._

“I’m not going to fuck you tonight.” He watches the near instant fall of his face, the shut of his eyes, the tight pressing of pink lips together. _I want to fuck you more than anything on Earth right now._

“But...”

“I’m not going to fuck you the next time I see you.” Again as soon as the words leave his mouth he sits Mathew’s head lift up, violet eyes bright, vibrant looking at him with such beautiful clarity he can feel rather than see the small understated smile beginning. _I have never more in my life wanted to do anything as badly as fuck you._

“Y-you mean you-“

“But if you’re a good boy, Matthew.” Matthew straightens up even more as he picks up his phone. _You’re going to hell, Arthur._ “I’ll give you everything you’ve ever wanted.” Matthew takes a picture as he bends to retrieve the device and Arthur is jealous of the view of the lens. _You’re going to Francis’ fucking Catholic hell._ “Do you understand?” 

Matthew stands and lets that smile remain just beneath the surface waiting for sunlight to bring it to bloom.

“Yes.” Arthur leans in and presses his lips gently to Matthew’s forehead body a strange sea of tranquility. 

“That’s a good lad. Now get dressed and I’ll tell you what I want you to do.”


End file.
